The Person in the Mirrors
by 13 Pairs of Wings
Summary: Lord Arthur Kirkland was a self-centred man. Noblemen often are. Eventually his greed and selfishness is noticed by a most powerful being. The punishment? Living eternally trapped in his prized mirrors' reflections, sad and alone. Until one day he meets a most unlikely hero. USUK/UKUS, AU, two-shot.


Like so many others, this story begins a time long ago, in a castle on a hill...

...where a wealthy lord once lived. He was a greedy man, too greedy and self-centred for his own good.

In fact, he was so vain that he ordered every mirror-maker in the land to make him their most beautiful mirror. If they refused, he took their wives and children as slaves in his large castle on the hill as payment.

It was not long before the lord had an entire hall of elegant mirrors, and soon every wall in the castle was covered with the mirror-makers' most beautiful mirrors. Neither kitchen nor loo was spared. The dining room fireplace was over-shadowed by a great mirror above its mantle so that the lord could look at himself as he ate.

The selfishness of the lord in the castle on the hill was brought to the attention of a wandering sparrow. And the sparrow told the owl, who whispered it to the squirrel, who ran to tell the most important creature he knew.

By now, the message of the self-centred lord in the castle on the hill had made its way rather far. The news had travelled all the way to a forgotten magic wood deep in the uncharted wild.

The squirrel ran fast and alerted the wise dragon that a human had gotten too powerful and vain for his own good. The dragon grew very angry at this. He leaped up with a mighty roar and flew off to the castle on the hill.

A loyal knight rushed to warn the lord of a great beast that flew with speed toward his castle on the hill, but the lord scoffed and dismissed the threat.

The knight then turned to the villagers in the town below the hill and warned them of the angry dragon that flew toward the castle on the hill and their little town. The villagers rose in an mad panic, marching to the castle gates and pounding on them until a frightened maid let them in.

The dragon flew from the north while the villagers marched in from the east. The self-centred lord knew that his reign had come to an end, and so he fled to his most treasured place, the hall of mirrors; where the first beautiful reflection had been hung on the wall. Now only the best and most elegant mirrors remained there.

The window next to the lord suddenly shattered to pieces, and the raging dragon flew in through the opening. He turned to the vain lord and proclaimed, "You have been very selfish and vain. I will not allow this to continue. You must be taught a lesson for such horrible wrong doings."

With that, the dragon reared up on his hind legs and threw the frightened lord into the beautiful mirror behind him.

But, the lord did not hit the glass. Instead, he fell through it like a bird through an open window and was trapped in the world beyond, forced to suffer in a place without people where he could no longer gaze at his reflection.

It is said that he still resides there, pacing through the mirrors of his castle in eternal solitude; forever with neither a friend nor company of any kind.

* * *

**Present day England: The Castle of Mirrors**

"And here we have the famous Hallway of Mirrors, where it is said that the castle's lord would walk up and down every day to stare at his reflection." The smile of the tour guide was fake and plastic, the audience bored.

"Imagine that~ A hallway of mirrors in the castle of mirrors," a curly brown-haired teen whispered to the person standing next to him. The blond, in turn, was flirting with a girl talking with her friends next to a floor-to-ceiling glass reflecting the hall.

The brown-haired man frowned and gently elbowed the tall, stylish sixteen year-old next to him.

"Ohonon~ why 'ello ladies— oopfft! 'ey!" the man said in a thick French accent.

"Oh, stop it, Francis. I'm pretty sure the brunet and her friend are taken. _Lo siento_, but you were doomed from the start, _amigo_."

"But! _Mon ami_, what about the red-head?" the Frenchman practically purred, his accent all but disappeared now.

A care-free grin passed over the tanned face. The green-eyed teen put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I thought I'd take a shot at her. She looks pretty enough."

As the chatting group of visiting students passed through the hall—and past the three girls—a lone man slid an iPod from his pocket to turn up the volume and drown out the crowds.

He was not a very wealthy man by appearance. No, this college student wore the traditional t-shirt and jeans of an American visiting overseas on a low budget; a person with little chance to treat himself to a bit of sightseeing.

Still, the famous castle had drawn him in and caught his interest long enough for him to buy a ticket to tour its tall halls and extravagant rooms.

The man glanced into one of the many still preserved and relatively clear mirrors. ("The villagers, in the town we now call Clarkson, thought the place was haunted. They didn't dare break or even touch the glass, for fear of the lord's ghost coming after them.") Looking back at him was a well-built blond with wire framed glasses and slightly baggy pants worn under a comfy sweatshirt.

He looked around at a reflected version of the grand hall behind him. The passing tour guides had talked of a ghost that supposedly roamed in the castle's mirrors. Something about it popping up in the corner of the picture, or hiding behind things just out of sight.

Which was, of course, ridiculous, because what kind of ghost haunted only reflections?

A shriek pierced through the lyrics of _Welcome to the Black Parade_, and the college student whipped around. One of the three girls by the largest of the mirrors was on the ground, several feet away from where she had stood before. Even through the loud rock music, he could hear her bordering on hysteric words.

"I-I was just checking my lipstick, because you know, a girl needs to make sure she looks nice, a-and then out of the corner of my eye, I saw this... this c-corpse!" She proceeded to break into a sobbing mess while her other two friends tried to comfort their fallen comrade.

The man paused the song playing and was about to go help the poor girl when a muffled voice came from beside him.

"Bother not. She's just looking for attention."

His fare-hair spun out from his head as he turned to where the voice had come from. That was strange... he had thought that it had come from his left, but the only thing there was a mirror. It must have just been his brain psyching him out or something. Things like this had happened before.

The man looked back at the red-head, who was now being seen to by the tanned teenager from before. All traces of a helpless damsel were gone, aside from the occasional sniff. Real or not, the voice had been right. She was faking it.

"People these days will do anything for the attention of a crowd."

There it was again. Twice in five minutes. The American looked around again, but no one was there. Just him standing next to the mirrors. Could it have been the real ghost?

He turned back to the reflected world in front of him. This time, his blue eyes slowly searched its surface for a face that shouldn't be there.

The muffled voice spoke a third time. "There's no point in looking. I am standing behind your reflection. You cannot see me."

A quick look around to make sure that no one was watching before the man dared to speak. "Hello?"

"Why good day," a sarcastic voice called back. "Really, I thought we skipped the 'how do you do's."

The fair-haired man blinked rapidly and cleaned out his ears with a finger, looked around yet again, and turned back to the mirror in search of the voice's owner.

"I thought I told you, you cannot see me. I am behind your reflection."

"Who are you?" the man whispered.

"Lord Arthur Kirkland, the supposed 'ghost' of the Castle of Mirrors for the last six hundred years. My castle, I might add." The voice now had an arrogant tone to it. "And who are you?"

The college kid was silent for a beat in shock before he grinned and replied, "Alfred F. Jones, American college student."

"Where is this 'American College' place you speak of?"

Alfred frowned, taking a moment to think it all out. Then something dawned on him. "I don't suppose that being stuck here for, like, a hundred years—"

"Six hundred and seventy-two." The voice was not sad, but merely factual. It had succumbed to the reality of its fate a long time ago.

The young American stopped what he was about to say and looked into the mirror. Six _hundred _years?...

"What is wrong?" the voice snapped.

Alfred's eyebrows came together in thought for a second before the expression disappeared. He smiled and looked around the hall, remembering exactly where he was right now and what it must look like to passer-by.

The blond lowered his voice a bit more to ask, "Is there anywhere we can talk that's not so crowded?"

The voice didn't even miss a beat. "I will meet you in the second bedroom on the left when you go up the North Stairway."

"Wait, where?" Too late, the castle ghost had already left.

* * *

Alfred opened a heavy wooden door into a dark room. Inside was a small dusty space that might have once been a guest's quarters, but was now being used as a storage room for the touring company. Even here, the walls had not been spared by the onslaught of mirrors. Though there were considerably less than the rest of the castle that the blond had seen. No one had bothered to clean the few there either.

It was not long before the muffled voice came from somewhere in the dust. "That took you long enough. I thought you'd fallen in the moat or down the sewage hole at this rate."

"Hey, don't blame me if you suck at giving good directions! There's like, twenty different north stairways! That and I kept tripping. Dude, your stairs are all uneven." The college student waved his hands around as if it would help prove his point.

Alfred thought he heard the voice—Arthur—scoff. "The steps are uneven so that any attackers unfamiliar with my castle will fall, while the rest of us can move easily. Clearly, the architects did their job. Furthermore, there are only twelve staircases, and only one is called the North Stairway."

"None of them are called that. There's South, Servants' Stairway, Second-Floor Stairs, and the Grand Stairway, but no North!"

"Well, there is. Whoever created that map is entirely false. There is neither a Grand Stairway, nor a South. They are the First Stairway and the Moor View Stairs, simply incorrectly named."

"...Is there a Stairway to Heaven?" Alfred asked with a cheeky grin.

"...Uh, no..." the voice replied.

"That was completely lost on you, wasn't it?"

"What has been lost?" Arthur asked, confused.

"Never mind." The American found a dusty chair with questionable sturdiness and sat down with a creak.

For a while they were both silent, but Alfred was never one for long periods of quiet, and he soon spoke up. "Hey, so, why can't I see you? I don't mind if you're like, decaying or something. I watch horror movies all the time! Hahaha!"

"I am most certainly not some corpse!" Arthur's voice shouted back, slightly clearer than before. "Look to your left."

Alfred turned and was faced with a mirror a ways away from his chair. Everything beyond the glass looked just the same as before.

"Uh, Arthur—"

The ghost didn't let him finish before he took a couple of steps forward, his image seeming to walk through Alfred's mirrored self. He had braced himself to see a corpse straight out of a horror film. Instead, standing in the tall thin mirror was a good-looking man in old fashion medieval attire. Arthur was of a shorter stature, with a large white shirt under a forest green vest. It appeared that the brown hat on his head was put there in attempt to control every-which-way dirty-blond hair, but the hat was obviously failing to do its job. Above a pair of forest-green eyes rested two caterpillar-like eyebrows that were set in what must be a permanent scowl to complete the picture.

"Are you happy now?" With Arthur standing closer to him, Alfred could hear an English accent that accompanied his voice. It seemed to add something to his appearance, making him seem so very stereotypically British.

Alfred smiled. "Just wanted to see what you looked like, Artie."

The medieval lord opened his mouth to say something, but his eyebrows knitted together and instead he asked, "What did you just call me?"

"Hahahaha! I called you Artie, Artie. Like your nickname?" The college student's laughter was loud and wearing thin on Arthur's patience.

"I like it not in the least bit! You will address me as Lord Arthur, Kirkland, or Sir Arthur, but most definitely _not_ Artie!"

"Ok..." Alfred sounded truly put out about it. Arthur almost went back on what he said when the other grinned and spoke again, "Whatever you say, Artie."

"My name is Arthur, not this 'Artie' you continue to address me as!"

* * *

"One pass for today please," Alfred asked the bored attendant behind the counter. This was Alfred's third trip to the Castle of Mirrors to see Arthur, not including the first trip when they'd met, and if he kept this up, he wouldn't be able to afford his little apartment anymore. They would have to devise a way to get past this whole paying process soon.

It was later that day when he brought up his lack of funds. Apparently Arthur had thought ahead and already had a plan for such an incident.

"When it's time for them to lock up, I will guide you to a storage closet that they never use. From there, you will have to wait about half an hour before you can come out again."

"Half an hour?" Alfred whined.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, a bloody half an hour. I think you'll live."

For the rest of the touring day the two chatted. Alfred had, of course, brought food with him, and while he ate Arthur criticised his choice of a meal. ("What is that? It looks positively disgusting! Ugh, it is positively _loaded_ with fat and grease. Is that even meat?")

When 7:00pm rolled around, the tall American was guided down the corridors by his ghostly friend. It wasn't long before the necessary silence was broken by Alfred's not-so-whispered banter.

"Hey, Arthur? How much further?" he asked.

Arthur turned and glared, holding a finger to his lips as he continued walking.

Not a minute later, "Hey, Artie, dude, are we there yet?"

"Shhh," the medieval lord said while repeating the same actions as before.

"Artie—!"

"Quiet, you insufferable git! You are going to get us caught!" Arthur said in a quiet hiss.

A high-pitched voice filtered down to the pair from the hallway ahead. "Luddy~ I'm tired. Why do we have to have the night shift? Night shifts are boring!~"

"Quiet, Feliciano. I thought I heard someone down that way," another, more masculine, voice replied.

The castle ghost turned to his companion and motioned for him to follow. Now they both moved in silence as the two security guards started walking down an adjacent hall behind them.

A bit more wandering around and a considerable amount of time wasted in whispered arguments later; Alfred was left to hide behind a bookcase in a storage room on one of the upper floors.

"Psssst, Artie." He stage whispered into the dark.

He waited. No response.

The nineteen year old tried again, "Hey... Arthur?"

Still nothing from the ghost-like lord.

Luckily for Alfred, he'd brought his handy iPod for such emergencies as this. Putting both earbuds in, he scrolled through a long list of American bands and singers, peppered with a few British ones as well.

However, there was only so long that he could sit playing the puzzle game he'd recently downloaded without getting a headache. Thus, once again, Alfred was left to see if Arthur was around.

"Arttttiiiie~ Are you in here?" One earbud was swinging on its wire while the other occupied his right ear.

"Luddy! Ve~ I promise you, I just heard someone! This time I'm sure." It was that high-pitched voice from earlier. Now Alfred could detect the traces of an Italian accent, but that didn't matter right now. What matter was that the two security guards were walking toward his hiding spot.

"Arthur, they're coming. Now would kinda be a nice time for you to pop out and show me a secret passageway or something!" Alfred continued to stage whisper, but no one came. Were there any mirrors in here to begin with? The American searched the walls. Sure enough, reflected blue eyes stared back at him from on the wall. There were only blue eyes, though. Not a single green orb watched his panic from behind the glass.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" came a deep voice from the solitary doorway. Was that a German accent? Man, they had people from all over Europe working here!

The now found blond almost forgot that he'd been asked a question. He couldn't come up with any liable excuse for why some random person had been found in the storage room of a famous castle, so he answered with the only other reasonable option.

"I'm here to talk to the castle ghost. I know that sounds stupid and you're probably thinking 'wow, crazy guy!', but Arthur—he's the ghost—isn't that bad, just very lonely, so please, _please_ let me stay here and don't kick me out or report me or something! I promise I'm not a burglar or going to vandalise or something."

There was a pause in which Alfred took the chance to look over the two security guards. One—the German—was tall and muscular with a torch in one hand that pointed to the ground just in front of the American. The light from the torch made it hard for him to see much of either person in the doorway, but the other guard was shorter and slim. His hair had an odd curl to it that seemed to swing out to the right side of his head. How did—

"Ve~ You know Arthur?" the shorter man asked.

Alfred's eyes widened a bit in surprise as he opened his mouth to speak, but the German beat him to it.

"Feli, don't assume things," the tall blond said in a quiet voice to his partner before raising his voice to address the college student, "If you know Arthur, like you say that you do, what does he look like?"

It took a good three seconds before the American could quite get over his temporary bout of shock. Well…Of course the security guards would have run into Arthur at _some_ point over the years.

"For starters, he's short." With the return of his voice, Alfred straightened and became more confident. "Like, way short. He's all dressed in medieval lord stuff—which makes sense. Arthur's got these two _huge_ eyebrows too. They're massive!" his arms waved about as if to emphasize how large the ghost's eyebrows were.

The guard called Feli immediately brightened. "Sí, sí! That's him! Luddy, he has to know Arthur!"

"It would seem so…" The German—Luddy—sounded apprehensive, but he didn't say anything else.

The two security guards stepped back and allowed Alfred to pass by. After aimlessly wandering in one direction because Arthur was still out of sight, the ghost finally made his appearance in the mirror next to Alfred.

"You know, I honestly know not why they keep Feliciano around here. He is almost as bad at his job as the shaggy man who is always falling asleep."

Alfred jumped at the sudden arrival of his recently made friend. "Dude, you _have_ to quit doing that! One of these days I'm gonna jump so badly that I'll swing my arm and smash a mirror or something."

"One of these days I am going to teach you proper grammar. This 'gonna' that you speak of is not a word. I believe you mean 'going to'," Arthur said in a sour voice, but they both knew he was only arguing about it for arguing sake.

The American rolled his eyes and smiled. "Yeah, yeah, threaten me all you want, but when you get out there and have the biggest culture shock of your life because everyone talks 'funny', don't come crying to me."

The hall seems to plummet into deadly silence. Arthur stopped walking and just stared ahead of himself for a while. It took a moment before the other blond realised that he was the only one walking. He turned around just in time to catch the look of utter loneliness and misery hardened into a face void of any emotions.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Instead they simply stood there; one, a long-lost medieval lord trapped in the reflection he used to love, and the other a measly college student living in a foreign country.

Arthur was the first to speak in a quiet, cold voice. "Alfred, I think we both know I'll never get out of here."

It was hard for Alfred not to argue, not to say something like "Of course you will Artie!" or "Don't say that! I'll get you out. I'll be your hero!" Instead, he quickly changed the topic to a much safer subject. The pair continued wandering around the halls with no real destination in mind, just talking. Alfred even coaxed a genuine smile out of the Medieval Englishman.

However, he didn't miss the sad look that graced Arthur's face when he mentioned that he had to leave.

* * *

It would be almost a week later before Alfred dared to mention the touchy subject again. He and Arthur were in the Hall of Mirrors and Arthur was in the giant mirror on one wall that reached up to the high ceiling and was as half wide. They sat on the floor, back to back—a position that the two had adopted as the best way to sit during their long conversations.

Arthur had started off on a long rant about the existence of unicorns when Alfred blurted words out without really meaning to, as he often did.

"I'm going to find a way to get you out of there."

"Withal, simply be thou have n—" The other blond paused mid-sentence and furrowed his thick eyebrows. "What?"

It was too late to back out now. "I said... I'm going to figure out how to get you out of the reflection."

"Lad." There was a sigh, as if he was talking to a small child who didn't understand. "I appreciate the thought, but I came to terms with my sad situation a long time ago," His voice was flat and emotionless once again. Alfred didn't like that.

The American shifted so that his two blue eyes stared at the other's scruffy hair. "I'm serious. I'll find a way."

"And I am too. I tried for years to find a way out, Alfred. I tried for _two_ _hundred years._ If there was a way for me to leave this place, I would have found it," Arthur twisted around so that he met the sky blue eyes straight on, "There is no way out. I've been here six hundred years and I'll be here until all the mirrors in this castle have been broken."

There was a pause. "Then where will you go?"

"I know not... Perchance I would finally die."

They both fell into an edged silence, lost in thought. Alfred wondering about how in hell would he even know where to start looking for a way to Arthur out of the reflections. He would try though. He said he would, and he was a hero—which meant that it's his job to help people. He'd have to be the hero once again.

After that, Alfred would often come to the castle with several books in hand. They'd be about anything from the making of mirrors to common stories and legends from the 1300's. Occasionally, the two ended their night with a cold argument about the growing attempts to retrieve Arthur. When Alfred would ask the other about different things in the reflection world, he was met with a clipped and short response. This led to the college student trying to make the Brit give out information without realising it.

"What is it that has drawn your attention this time?" the grumpy lord asked as Alfred pushed his glasses up his nose and walked down one of the halls carrying several books.

"Actually, these are similar books to some of the ones in your library—" they had once spent an entire night looking at and arguing about the castle book collection, "—so I thought they might shed some light on your problem."

As always, a witty response was in order. "And, pray tell, how must one go about getting one out of a mirror whilst reading about sixteenth century carriages? Hmm?"

The two had automatically started walking toward the grand hall while they spoke. "I don't know! It's possible though. You never know, Artie."

"Oh, really?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

A broad smile made its way across the blond's face. "Really, truly!"

* * *

"What about true love's first kiss?"

"Who's first kiss?"

Alfred rolled his eyes and got ready to explain something to his medieval friend. "You must've not had Disney in the 1300's—"

"What is Disney?"

If he had to try to explain the magical wonder of Disney, there was no way that they'd ever get around to answering the original question. "Later, ok Artie? As I was saying, true love's first kiss is when two people who like each other a lot share their first kiss."

There was a pause in the conversation.

"Um...must we...?" Arthur trailed off.

The suggestion sent Alfred into a frenzy, "What?! No! No! Jeez, Artie! I mean two people who _love_ each other. People that are so madly in love that it's power makes miracles happen. Like Beauty and the Beast!"

"Beauty a-and the Beast?"

"Never mind."

"So, you are saying that if I meet someone and I fall in love with them, and then kiss said person, I'll be able to come back to the real world?" Arthur clarified, though he sounded doubtful.

The much more optimistic of the two nodded his head enthusiastically. "Yep! So long as that person loves you back."

The lord's voice took a sarcastic turn as he questioned the blond, "Then there is one problem with your solution. How am I supposed to go about kissing anyone whilst stuck in a completely different world?"

Alfred frowned. "I didn't think of that…"

* * *

"Have you tried a magic spell or something?"

Arthur blinked his eyes awake and raised an eyebrow in question as he lifted his face sleepily. "What?"

"Well…" Alfred was staring out at the reflections high up on the wall with his hands behind his head and an open book in his lap, "You guys had a lot of magic back in 1341, didn't you? Shouldn't there be some spell for this?"

"If there was, then I would have known about it and already be out of these mirrors," the Englishman replied, "I am sure there was one floating around somewhere at the time—or at least a spell that could be modified to fit our needs—but I doubt any record of its existence is around today."

The college student nodded and looked down at worn pages and flowing ink; _Jones's Studies in Common Spells _was written on the first page in an almost unreadable scrawl.

"That's funny…" he wondered out loud as he read the cursive title.

Arthur perked up a bit and shifted to look over his's shoulder. "What is funny?"

"Oh, the guy who wrote this book," he pointed out the name with one finger, "his last name was Jones."

The medieval lord pursed his lips. "Jones. He was a colleague of mine at one point."

"Oh so you knew him?"

"We grew up together. I practically raised him like a little brother when we were children, and we both were very often mistaken for siblings by those that had not known him and me. The two of us grew fond of the magical arts as young adults, but... after that we drifted away, you could say."

The American could hear a bit of melancholy and reminiscence in his voice. He didn't like that sound; it was too sad. "You know my last name is Jones. Now you know two of us! Kinda."

"Kind of," Arthur must have been in a better mood if he was correcting grammar again, "and you could say that the two of you were rather similar. Jones was his last name….Thomas Jones…"

The ancient lord seemed to look at him in a new light before his eyes wandered off over Alfred's shoulder and deep into his own thoughts.

"…Artie, kinda is so a word," he tried to bring the Englishman back from the sad nostalgia with his comment.

It worked—though, maybe it was that they had both needed a topic change. "I barely understand what you are saying half of the time! Mark me well, I care not what era tis, 'kinda' shall never be a word, sirrah!"

As he had continued on ranting, the medieval man had slipped into his original tongue. This had happened only once before when the blond had become worked up about a particular disagreement concerning unicorns.

"…Wha'?" the far more modern American spoke in confusion.

"Bother not. Methinks it would have been wasted counsel on thee anyway."

"Now you're just doing that to confuse me!"

* * *

The Hallway of Mirrors had a ridiculously high ceiling. Not some four-story tall room, mind you, but much taller than the average. Apparently, that was part of what made the short hallway so famous. It was one of the most architecturally sound halls with such a high ceiling from its time. Now, a careful watcher could see where someone had added in a few support beams at the top, and the higher up mirrors were dull with age. Some of them were even missing entirely. If a passer-by looked closely, they might notice that a few of the smaller mirrors has little imperfections. Not all of them were cleaned (that would be absurd, and no one had the money to pay for that many cleaners), many had little cracks, or the framework was chipped. Alfred, who had sat in this hall every night for over a month now, could spot most of the flaws, and any new ones that presented themselves were immediately noticed.

It was on a clear night with a near full-moon, when he and Arthur had fallen silent. Alfred spoke in a quiet voice, as if something might happen if his voice rose above a whisper, "How was the crack on the frame of that mirror made, Artie?" He pointed to one that hung just above head-height across from them.

"I've told you a hundred times by now, my name is Lord Arthur Kirkland. Not Artie."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Yea, yea. So, about the crack, Artie?"

There was a tired sigh and the muffled noise of the medieval Englishman turning to look at where his friend was pointing. A hard look crossed his features and his dark green eyes almost seemed to glaze over in the way that Alfred knew meant he was remembering something.

The college student waved a hand in front of Arthur's face. "Hello? Are you going to answer me or not?"

"Oh, well- ...I remember not..."

It was very tempting to call bullshit, but instead he fell silent. However, Alfred was never one to keep quiet for long. He soon moved on to a new topic of conversation.

"How did you even get stuck in the mirrors?"

"Excuse me?"

The American let out a snort. "Jeez, Artie, you've been off in your own little world today. I asked you a question. How did you get stuck in the reflections?"

There was another heavy pause in the conversation, and Alfred glanced behind his shoulder to make sure that the other was still there. It was then that the medieval lord chose to speak. "I was an arrogant fool..."

"That's not an answer."

"Be patient! I wasn't finished yet..." and with a weary sigh, Arthur began the tale.

"As you know, I used to be a very wealthy lord. I had grown up being told that my wish was everyone's command. I only had to ask for something, and it would be mine. Even the friendship of a wild page-boy." The last words were in a barely audible whisper.

"Wow, that sounds like a paradise..."

The medieval Englishman's head whirled around to stare him down with unkind green eyes. "You know not what you're saying. It was anything but a paradise!"

Alfred frowned and shifted into a more comfortable position before turning back to look at Arthur.

"I became a greedy and self-centred brat," the words were spat out, as if they left a bad taste in his mouth, "No one bothered trying to correct me; not even Jones. My parents were almost never around—off in a war to the north or at one of their other castles—and so my word was law in their absence. One of the servants might have looked at me wrong, and I could have them hanged without a second thought.

"Some people have said that a truly evil person is one that thinks he is right in his doings. They are wrong. When a person knows they are evil, but cares not none the less; that is the real horror.

"After a while, you cared not anymore..." Arthur's voice grew distant and stifled by the glass between them. Alfred suddenly had the urge to hug the helpless looking man as he continued on.

"It was not long before I then became bored with everyone and everything in the castle. Nothing is worth any considerable amount when you only have to spare it a glance and tis yours.

"Then, I came up with a new scheme; something that would pass the lonely hours. By that time, I was the only one living in this castle. Jones slept with the other knights in the barracks. I have not an idea what happened to my parents, nor do I care. Their absence only meant that I had not to share my positions with others.

"I had every mirror maker within my reach ordered to make me his finest mirror. The carpenters were commanded to create beautiful frames for these mirrors. Both areas of craftsmen worked day and night, without pay. When they were done, and the finished masterpieces arrived at the castle, I had servants hang them in this hall for my pleasure.

"Eventually, that was not enough. More mirrors were made. More and more, until all the walls were covered in reflections."

There was a pause in the telling as Arthur drew in a shaky breath. He closed his eyes as he did so, and only began speaking again after opening them. "I attracted... attention from a very old and powerful force. One that did not approve of my greedy actions... I supposed I'd been watched for a great time. Carefully looked after to make sure that I never stepped too far out of line... At that point, I had most definitely stepped _far _out of line."

Alfred did his best to stay silent, but his curiosity about this force and Arthur's knight friend was making him restless. The trapped lord didn't seem to notice, however, and continued speaking.

"Jones saw it first. He came running straight to the castle in order to warn me, but I listened not. That is, not until it was too late. He had gone to the villagers, told them of the danger so that they might flee. They, of course, instead stormed the castle in a riot. With a mob of angry people banging on the castle's outer gate, I fled to my treasured hall, the place where everything had begun... And then the place where it ended."

A long silence stretched out as the two looked around the hall in which they sat. This must have been where it all ended, Alfred realised. He gazed around at the reflected walls before asking the first question that came to mind. "What was it that trapped you in the mirrors? You never really said."

Arthur looked at Alfred and raised one of his bushy eyebrows. "Do you honestly wish to know?" his voice held a sarcastic tone to it.

There wasn't even a second of hesitation before the college student answered, "Yep. If I'm going to be your hero and get you out of there, then I want to know what I'm up against."

"...Iwastrappedbyadragon." The mirror's glass muffled the words until the reply was an unintelligible slur.

"What?"

"A _dragon_, you prat! I was trapped here by a bloody dragon! Have you seen the problem _now_?!"

Alfred blinked away his surprise and glanced back to the old scratch on the mirror frame that had originally drawn his attention. Now when he looked at it, he could imagine how a claw might have carelessly scrapped across the ornate wood, or simple tilt of the head from such a beast might have caused a horn to nick the framing. There were little places like that all over the hall, come to think of it.

"...So does this mean that I get to be a knight in shining armour who slays the dragon to save the prin—"

"You dare not finish that sentence."

* * *

**_End of Part 1_**


End file.
